


Sweet Tooth

by poes



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Background Relationships, Carnival, Cries and Throws This At This Website, Fluff, Hanzo Falls First, I Know It's Not February Anymore Let Me Live, I'm Not Projecting My Perfect Date You Are, Lucio Correia dos Santos/Genji Shimada - Freeform, M/M, Pining, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, carnival date, mlm author, only not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 21:25:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14144904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poes/pseuds/poes
Summary: The… unfortunate, distracting feelings he harbors for one Jesse McCree seem to only be exacerbated the more time he spends around him. Perhaps the only hesitation he’d had with going on this mission was knowing that he was going to spend one, or possibly two, entire days with the other man in what was the most romantic setting and time of the year possible. A parade and a fair celebrating Valentine’s Day. Overkill, and overkill specifically designed to make looking at the cowboy difficult.It doesn’t matter, he reminds himself firmly, it’s just a job. Just do your job.-------Hanzo is assigned to a mission to supervise a Pro-Omnic/Human-Relationship Pride March during Valentine's Day. That isn't the hard part; it's spending the entire mission accompanied by the hat-tipping, spur-wearing object of his affection.





	Sweet Tooth

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Here's a piece that I started in early February and intended to get up for Valentine's Day, but, haha... [stares at the calendar] something things happen. Big ol' update on my other work, Bad Moon, at the end. 
> 
> If you don't care about that, I hope you enjoy this shameless, shameless fluff.

Work in February is perhaps one of Hanzo’s least favorite things.

It has been for far longer than he can remember. Despite his reputation as a cold person, Hanzo has never been fond of the chilly weather that came with the early parts of the year.

At best, it meant bundling up in scarves and the most motion-free jackets he could find, sniffling and wiping his nose constantly no matter where he went, which was probably one of the least intimidating things a man can do.

At worst, it meant long, long hours at stakeouts as snow fell down around and on top of him, feeling the cold creep into his bones and settle, sinking into him until he no longer felt alive. Fingers that are only just saved from frostbite by the weapon-hindering gloves he must wear, and the freezing bite of his metal prosthetics into the meat of his legs. The way the ache would sit permanent there, no matter how much he rubbed his stumps with tired, cracking hands.

It grew marginally better working with Overwatch during the colder months of the year, but Hanzo still felt a sinking in his gut when Winston informed him that the mission would be taking place in the midwestern part of America. It wouldn’t be the coldest place Hanzo had been during this season, but it would still be enough that he would have to wear more than his traditional clothing, and the ache would still be in his joints for the majority of the trip.

He doesn’t complain, because it’s just his job, but he privately grimaces at the fur-lined jacket he tucks into his suitcase the night before they leave.

Luckily, the job itself doesn’t seem like it will give them much issue. He will be accompanied by Genji, Lúcio, Zenyatta, Orisa, and McCree to a fairly large town called Perswood. For Valentine’s Day, there will be a march there in honor of omnic/human relationships, making it not only a prime target for anti-omnic supporters to strike, but also making it imperative that nothing happens there.

Hanzo has no strong personal feelings on the matter overall; though he had never been romantically involved with an omnic himself, several of his family had in the past, including Genji, and he has no real issue with the idea. His family had never held prejudices against Omnics, and Japan had not suffered from the Crisis in the way many countries had. It is understandable why he’d been picked in lieu of some of the more reluctant members of his team. It is his job, and Overwatch’s stance, to make sure that the relations between man and machine remain amicable, and Hanzo will perform as is suited.

The members of his squad also seem particularly pro-Omnic. Zenyatta, especially, seems dazzled by the way the city is decorated as they arrive via hovercar, his faceplate tilted to watch outside the window and the glowing lights on his forehead twinkling with the only outward expression of happiness he can emote. “What a beautiful ceremony,” he muses, and as Hanzo glances out of the passenger side, he feels inclined to agree.

The city is covered in pink and red, it seems. Banners and balloons and baubles are cast on every surface imaginable, some decorated with silhouettes of people and omnics holding hands, others lit up with soft yellow bio-lights that only emphasize the melding of man and machine. The parade will not start until later in the day, but everything seems set up to receive them gladly.

Hanzo doesn’t hear Jesse coming closer until his voice is right in his ear. “Real gorgeous,” he agrees amicably, slowing the car to a crawl as he leans over the center console to peer out the window on Hanzo’s side. Hanzo nearly leaps out of his skin, neatly restraining himself, and then internally balks at the thrill he’d felt hearing the compliment that was most definitely not for him. _Idiot._ “Heard the fair’s gonna be even better. They really go all out here, huh?”

He doesn’t lean away, bent close enough that his breath curls gently on Hanzo’s nape. The archer feels heat rising up the back of his neck as he studiously scopes the scene in front of him, almost not catching it as Genji speaks up from the backseat. “Ah, yes, I’d nearly forgot. I hope they have a strength test so I can embarrass you in front of our comrades.”

Jesse chuckles, still too close, before pulling back into the driver’s seat. Hanzo closes his eyes with his face turned away, feeling the pulse in his neck jumping erratically as he presses his warm cheek into the cool window. “Ha! You’re still on that? I thought we proved good ol’ natural manpower can beat your cyborg ass any day.”

Of course. There is _this._ The mission is going to be simple enough, Hanzo presumes, but that isn’t what he’s concerned with.

The… unfortunate, distracting feelings he harbors for one Jesse McCree seem to only be exacerbated the more time he spends around him. Perhaps the only hesitation he’d had with going on this mission was knowing that he was going to spend one, or possibly two, entire days with the other man in what was the most romantic setting and time of the year possible. A parade _and_ a fair celebrating romance. Overkill, and overkill specifically designed to make looking at the cowboy difficult.

Valentine’s Day when he was younger had been stressful enough, having to turn down advance after advance from the women who’d hoped to woo him with chocolates and love confessions. This is an entirely different kind of stress, and he finds himself empathizing with those girls about a decade too late.

_It doesn’t matter,_ he reminds himself firmly, _it’s just a job. Just do your job._

The rest of the team (sans Orisa, who will be meeting them at the hotel before the parade begins) continues ooh-ing and aah-ing over the admittedly impressive decorations it seems the entire city is covered in. Jesse nudges Hanzo at one point and points at a little Omnic Cupid ornament hanging from a lamppost as they pass underneath it.

“You got an outfit like that for the occasion?” he teases, low, eyes glowing whiskey brown and good-natured.

Hanzo looks back at him and feels his chest tighten as warmth rolls inside, cloaking him in affection that he must pray doesn’t show on his face. The cowboy is infectious in his friendliness, and where months before he might’ve snapped an insult, now he can only smirk in response. “Pink is not my color,” he disagrees, voice lilting in playfulness.

Jesse grins. His eyes crinkle handsomely at the corners before he shoots Hanzo a wink and returns his gaze to the road. “Says you.”

Jesse McCree has not always been his friend. He had certainly not always felt this way about the man. When he had first joined Overwatch, Jesse had been one of his most suspicious teammates, constantly sniffing after his intentions and following him around to make sure he wasn’t plotting the demise of everyone on the base. Hanzo had found him irritating and uncouth while simultaneously respecting the way he’d been one of the few to not take Genji’s words at face value. It had been hard, admiring his mistrust (and therefore his cleverness) while also wanting to punch him in the mouth each time he badgered Hanzo’s every move.

Sometimes he doesn’t remember how they got to this place of cooperation. They had always fought well together as a team; both were men that were used to working by themselves, and in that way, had quickly picked up on how the other thought in battle. Quick, efficient tactics paired well, and while they circled each other like cats and dogs outside of battle, it had apparently been enough to begrudgingly earn respect from each other.

From there, the moments begin to blur together in Hanzo’s mind even as he distinctly remembers soft instances in the mess.

The first time he’d been surprised into a smile from one of Jesse’s offhanded, insulting comments (this time, not directed at Hanzo).

A grunt as Jesse passed him the remote when he’d had his fill of Western movies, then sat through Hanzo’s fumbling through channels until they settled on something involving cooking.

Quietly sitting and drinking side by side in post-battle celebrations with the team, both of them too tired to really participate but neither wanting to draw attention by leaving too early.

A training session with Hanzo pressed, wheezing, to the ground, a cowboy boot on his chest and a spark in his opponent’s eye… before being helped up, for the first time.

The sound of Jesse’s laugh — his real one, softer than the cocky chuckle he displayed on the battlefield and in crowds, throaty and indulgent and all the sweeter for Hanzo’s dark humor being the cause of it.

“You’re a real piece of work, Shimada,” had shifted from something that stung to something that made pride spark in Hanzo’s fingertips. Somehow, he had begun to crave Jesse’s commentary in his ear throughout battles and throughout movies alike. His dreams had shifted from nightmares every evening to the swirling white silk of bedsheets, the murmuring of a drawl against his throat, large hands gripping his waist and teeth on his skin. Visions of pressing a muscular brown body into the bed and thrusting his hips and the sweet, hungry sounds he’d never actually heard but _craved_ to. He woke flushed and flustered for reasons that, for once, had nothing to do with fear.

Or, well… perhaps a different kind of fear.

Hanzo would not say he has never felt this way before, but he has never had to endure the company of the person so constantly. And he had not had so… _childish_ a crush in what felt like decades.

There was lust, obviously, and Hanzo felt it burn in him every time Jesse did nearly anything, from rolling his sleeves up to adjusting his bootstraps. He craved Jesse in his bed, to lave him with his tongue and make him come apart with his hands, to feel the press of their bodies together. But what had originally been only lust born from admiration of his competence had turned to affection far too easily; his sex dreams now often came paired with images of Jesse kissing his face, of touches that led nowhere, and the intimacy of being held close to his side during every day, trivial things. The rumble of his laugh and the charm in his silliness.

It would be simpler if it were just his baser instincts. Hanzo is even convinced that if that’s all he offered to Jesse, that the cowboy would take it readily, and Hanzo would have someone to burn his excess energy on. Perhaps, if he’d jumped when it was nothing but carnality, he wouldn’t be having this dilemma at all.

But he hadn’t, still too cautious to take a man that was so closely associated with what was now going to be his everyday life, and now here he was, almost _feeling_ the heart-shaped bubbles popping around his head as he watches Jesse pull them into a parking space with practiced ease, one hand on the wheel, the other hand hanging out the window.

He looks good. His hair is pushed back, presently free from the cowboy hat tucked in Jesse’s suitcase. His button-up is a soft red-and-white flannel that stands out against his dark skin, stretching tight against his broad shoulders, and his face is settled in a content kind of expression as he puts the car in park.

Ridiculous. Inane. But undeniable.

Jesse climbs from the car and Hanzo is fast after him, moving to the back to help with the bags packed away in the trunk. Lúcio, Genji, and Zenyatta pile out after them, the two former stretching and twisting away the soreness the drive had given them. Hanzo takes a moment to appreciate it when Jesse similarly lifts his arms above his head and groans as his back pops.

Everyone is dressed comfortably, if warmly. Genji isn’t even wearing his armor, instead opting for a large green sweater and dark sweatpants, though Hanzo knows better than to presume that he’s unarmed. Zenyatta has a pair of earmuffs wrapped around his neck; he delicately puts them over where his ears _would_ be as he climbs outside.

“We made it, team,” Jesse announces, and Lúcio gives a tired cheer, pumping his fist once in the air.

“Woo. Hope they serve coffee all day, man. Long car rides make me sleepy.”

Genji chuckles beside him, giving the musician a tentative pat on the back. “Let’s get you healed up,” he says, affecting Lúcio’s accent, and the smaller man smiles up at him before beginning to clump towards the hotel; he already knows McCree won’t let him get his own bag, especially when he’s yawning as he is. Hanzo squints after him as Genji follows. His brother’s hand falls on Lúcio’s back again and stays there. He thinks he hears Zenyatta huff a tinny chuckle as he walks past.

Interesting.

“Hey, hon, you wanna get Lú’s bag, and I’ll grab Genji’s?”

Hanzo tears his eyes away from his teammates just as Lúcio leans into Genji’s side to meet eyes with Jesse. He cocks a brow.

Jesse’s insistence at using pet names for Hanzo used to be an annoyance; now it is a distraction that Hanzo finds he likes just a touch too much. He still pretends to dislike them, just on principle, but he suspects Jesse knows better.

Still. “Hon?” he repeats, indignant.

Jesse blinks innocently at him. “What is it, darlin’?”

Hanzo huffs, reaching in to grab the bright green suitcase of their resident DJ, pretending to be inspecting the myriad of frog stickers on the side in an attempt to hide the pleased expression on his face. Jesse snickers beside him. “Why do I fall for that every time?”

“Dunno,” The cowboy replies, hefting Genji’s much heavier bag out of the trunk with a grunt; none of these bags hold much else besides a change of clothes to blend in with civilians and their weapons, but Genji’s, of course, has all his armor in it. What a gentleman. Jesse wobbles just a little with the weight before turning a grin at Hanzo, “but it’s always funny.”

Hanzo feels warmth enter his face that he quickly chalks up to lifting Lúcio’s bag alongside his own. “Shush,” he scolds without heat, and Jesse continues laughing very softly as the pair of them make way for the entrance.

 

* * *

 

The parade half of the mission goes as smoothly as Hanzo knew it would.

There’s no disruption save for a couple of children that run across the parade route that are quickly retrieved. Zenyatta and Lúcio, moving through the march arm in arm, continue giving updates as they move, but the updates mostly comprise of Lúcio pointing out particularly outstanding outfits and couples. Orisa also walks with the march, closer to the back. When Hanzo catches her walking along, she looks alert but happy, and has acquired a yellow-and-pink flower crown that winds around her head. Her eyes are upturned arrows every time he looks at her.

He’s surprised to see she’s not the only OR-15 in attendance; though the others do seem to be there mostly for security, a couple of them are also decorated in colorful roses. Hanzo finds he is charmed despite himself.

The remaining members of the team keep eyes on the perimeter, but there is not a lot to see.

Well. Mission-wise.

Hanzo, finding himself bored when there are no signs of danger, keeps letting his eyes drift to Jesse on the roof across from his own. More than once, Jesse catches him, and chats at him through a private channel, goading him into playing “I Spy” and then choosing the color ‘pink’ just to be asinine.

It keeps his mind off of the cold weather, in any case, even seeing the red that dusts the end of Jesse’s nose. The cowboy sniffles once or twice into the comm and Hanzo is glad he’s far enough away that he can easily hide his smile.

_No, that is indeed the opposite of intimidating._

Genji eventually catches on that they’re playing something to pass the time and beeps into their channel, joining them as Hanzo chooses ‘red’ and lets the two of them struggle for a good 15 minutes to pick out the rose painted on a banner one of the marchers is holding.

“This game ain’t fun,” Jesse mutters good-naturedly, bringing a laugh out of Hanzo without him meaning for it to.

All in all, a successful morning. The parade is beautiful. Hanzo even allows himself to admire it, looking down at all the couples and groups linking hands, lifting them to the sky, metal fingers intertwined with flesh and bone. He watches as humans press their foreheads to their Omnic partners’, smiling across at them. There are Omnics of all kinds walking in the march, from basic models, like Zenyatta, to advanced models with emotive expressions, working musculature, piercings and metal-scarred tattoos. Some of them look startlingly close to what Genji seems to look like in his full armor, which sends something strange in Hanzo’s stomach.

But when he looks across at Genji, his brother most often seems happy. He has put the mask back on his face, dressed in battle gear since he’s not actually down in the crowd of people, but the set of his shoulders is loose, and, if anything, he looks like he wants to be among them. Hanzo remembers Genji’s fondness for things like this; excitement and parties and equality. Genji had always been outspoken and loud about his beliefs, even when it could have had him killed.

Hanzo had always been both jealous of his free personality and admired it.

He watches as Genji hoots when two Omnics lift their human partner up into the sky and walk as she stands on their lifted hands, waving to everyone and cheering herself.

Something warm settles in Hanzo’s chest. He looks down at the parade, at everyone there being happy and in love despite all the war in the world, all the people that hated them simply for who they were, and when he looks across at Jesse, he finds the gunslinger looking back at him.

Jesse looks away quickly this time, i-spying something silver, but catching him in the act makes pleasure bloom under Hanzo’s skin, and the archer cannot manage to find what the silver thing is before the parade is over.

Hanzo is relieved that the parade had gone well, all in all, but as the group quickly changes into their civilian clothing and reconverges at the Valentine’s Carnival they’ll also be overseeing, he feels a sinking in his stomach. This is where they’re definitely going to need to be in among the crowd. There was no avoiding all the… blatantly romantic _everything_ that this festival exuded.

Pink and red and white colored decorations line every tent he sees. Soft fairy lights strewn across booths and along the edges of rides. Enormous stuffed animals holding hearts with affectionate script written across the front. Even the little water-gun shooting games were themed around Cupid.

Hanzo lifts his chin. He’ll just group up with Genji and—

Lúcio grabs Genji’s arm and tugs, looking up at him with a big smile on his face. The man is dressed in what amounts to a blinding amount of pink; Genji himself is wearing casual dark clothing, but has apparently been persuaded into wearing a pink watch with a heart-shaped face on it. Hanzo notes it silently before the musician speaks up. “Genji said he’d be able to knock over the bottles in one of those booth games. We got twenty bucks on it. Catch up with you guys later!”

Genji, who look briefly confused, quickly reorients himself. “He underestimates my power. At least _someone_ around here sees the real strength in this cyborg ass,” says his brother, looking over Hanzo’s shoulder pointedly. Then, beaming, he gives a half-hearted wave to the remaining members of the group — and something a little cheeky at Hanzo, that he doesn’t want to examine too closely — before turning and hurrying away with Lúcio.

“Do not forget why we are here!” Hanzo shouts after him, but they disappear into the rose-colored crowd without looking back.

Hanzo stares after him, quickly cycling back through all the interactions between the DJ and his brother through the past few months with narrowed eyes, but jumps when a hand falls neatly onto his shoulder and squeezes.

“Guess it’s you and me, Cupid,” Jesse says, and Hanzo turns to see Zenyatta walking beside Orisa towards what looks to be a very alarmed boothsman; he probably had not anticipated seeing an OR-15 coming to play his game.

Hanzo reluctantly turns his eyes to meet Jesse’s, up into his amused expression.

“This ain’t really my kind of scene,” the cowboy continues, “but splitting up probably is a pretty good idea. I don’t really think these people are in danger, but… just in case, y’know.”

He makes a point. Hanzo bites back a sigh, feeling conflicted in that it’s very embarrassing to be spending time with his… infatuation in such a setting, but also feeling a deep-seated pleasure that he was the one here with him, and not some other random agent.

Perhaps he could make this work to his advantage. He might as well enjoy the illusion that they are normal people, here for a normal day at the fair.

Lifting his eyes, the archer nods. “Agreed. I am not… usually one for… all the pink.”

Jesse snorts. “No kiddin’.”

“But,” Hanzo continues, elbowing the man in the side, “we may as well keep our eyes open and walk around.”

His companion hums agreement, and the two of them begin moving through the crowd.

Hanzo lets Jesse take the lead, content to admire everything around him rather than having a set place to go. He stays close to the cowboy’s side, eyes roaming over the blinking attractions and sparkling lights. There are a few rollercoasters, a pirate ship. Hanzo’s eyes settle briefly on the large ferris wheel, thinking of sitting close with Jesse on it, while his tactical brain provides the excuse that it’d be a good vantage point.

The sun is beginning to set, now, and the sky is painted watercolor blue and orange, with the beginnings of stars pinpricking throughout. Soon, it will be dark. The ride would certainly be… nice. Hanzo had never been on one, before.

_Focus._ Hanzo turns away, shuffling a little faster as Jesse suddenly seems to spot something and make a beeline.

When he catches up, the gunslinger is peering into a food cart, looking at all the brightly lit options. He makes a low _mmmm_ noise, before smiling up at the Omnic serving the food, who laughs at his enthusiasm. Hanzo snorts, turning around as he looks to keep an eye on their perimeter.

“You hungry, Han?”

Hanzo doesn’t look over his shoulder. “I can wait until we get back to the hotel. Do not spend money on me.”

He might as well have not said anything. A few moments later Jesse is nudging him with the edge of a paper plate.

Hanzo turns back, strangely unsurprised, but a little appeased when it looks like McCree had only gotten one thing. He looks down into what looks like a waffle if someone unspun it and twirled it together like noodles. There’s whip cream and chocolate sauce on the top, a strawberry garnishing the little bed of a ridiculous amount of sugar. His sweet tooth sparks up. He flicks his eyes back up to Jesse, who grins.

“We can split it. It’s a funnel cake!”

Hanzo looks up into his earnest face and tries to put an offended expression on. “What? I’m not worth getting my own cake?”

Jesse, once upon a time, had been quick to get upset at this particular contrary brand of Hanzo’s humor. Now, he just dips a finger into the cream and sucks it off, smiling around the digit. “You’re so sour, I was scared all the sweetness would scare you off. I mean, I _could_ just eat the entire thing.”

Pfft. Hanzo’s stern face cracks into a smirk and he tugs the plate from Jesse’s grasp before he can protest, quickly turning away and looking down at it, trying to ascertain how to eat it. “You should not dip your hand into shared food,” he scolds playfully, and a moment later Jesse is beside him again. The cowboy pointedly shoves his metal fingers back onto the plate, only this time breaking off a piece of the cake and putting it all into his mouth. He cleans his fingers inelegantly again, and Hanzo tries to pretend he thinks its crude instead of endearing.

“Gross,” he comments, and Jesse laughs. Hanzo can’t help smiling as he turns back to the food.

He finds, after a few attempts, that there is really no way to neatly eat a funnel cake while moving. Resigned, he pulls a piece away from the edge and pops the chocolate-covered sweet into his mouth.

It’s surprisingly crisp, and not too sugary. Hanzo sucks the remaining chocolate off his fingers as subtly as he can.

Jesse isn’t fooled. “Gross,” he parrots.

Hanzo looks up at him, and sees that the man is watching him. He doesn’t look away, eyes just flicking from the fingers retreating from Hanzo’s mouth up to meet gazes with him. His face, briefly curled in a smile, softens into seriousness. The fairy lights around them make the brown in his eyes take on a rose-colored hue. Overlaid in pink, with powdered sugar dusting in his goatee, he looks messy, and handsome. Softer. Warm.

Flustered, Hanzo elbows him in the side again, bringing the cowboy from his reverie. He turns and quickly makes way for a couple of the picnic tables set up near the food carts. They can sit here, eat a little more handily, and keep watch on this location for a little while. Jesse trails behind him quietly, and as they take their seats, only the sound of the crowd around them and the cheerful carnival music accompanies them.

Only once they’re seated does Jesse speak up again. He slides on the bench opposite Hanzo, and props his chin on his hand. “You like it?”

Hanzo puts the plate between them and takes another bite, quickly scanning the area around them. When he looks at Jesse again, the cowboy looks amused; clearly, Hanzo’s vigilance after such an easy morning was being noticed.

“I do,” Hanzo replies, and Jesse’s lazy smile creeps an inch wider. “I… am actually quite fond of sweets.”

“Y’know, I had a feeling.” His companion looks at home, here. He picks another messy piece of funnel cake, managing to get it into his mouth without dripping any chocolate. “Opposites attract, and all that.”

Hanzo quirks a brow. “Are you saying I am not sweet?”

“Nah… you’re mean as a snake.” Jesse’s lackadaisical grin remains on his face. “But you’re gettin’ there. Like those pictures you see where the snakes have… little paper birthday hats on.”

The archer’s face twists in amused bewilderment. “What does that mean?”

“You might be cute, but you ain’t sweet.”

Ah. Hanzo feels heat rise in his face, but he carefully lifts his chin, meeting eyes with Jesse. “I am _handsome._ Very handsome. Impressive, perhaps, or… even _stately,_ but certainly not _cute.”_

Jesse’s smile is enough to crinkle his eyes now. “Alright,” he agrees easily. “You’re bad at this compliment-takin’ thing, Han.”

_“And,”_ Hanzo continues, barreling past the implied compliment, “I could be sweet if I wanted to.”

_“Really,”_ Jesse replies. His eating has slowed.

“Yes,” Hanzo sniffs. “I have had to be very _sweet_ in the past to get information I needed. I just have no need to waste those skills on people who already know of my… disposition.” He inspects his nails for a moment before smirking up at Jesse.

It’s… easy, talking with McCree like this. They both know that Hanzo isn’t exactly the easiest person to get along with at first; he has no illusions about the fact that he’s usually a fairly unpleasant person, and Jesse doesn’t pretend that he’s something he isn’t. Regardless, the cowboy has a way of softening him up, making him… more prone to joking, and laughter. Excluding Genji, it had always been Jesse that snapped his cold, emotionless shield and made him react hotly; where at first it had only been negative, snarling arguments, gradually this had slipped into friendlier interactions. Now, even on the days Hanzo felt distant again, Jesse’s poking and prodding had a way to tug him back.

In any case, their banter always has a habit of making Hanzo relax, even with the topic taking a dangerously flirtatious tone.

Jesse’s grinning wide again. He shakes his head in disbelief a moment later. “Hmm… I can’t see it. Can’t believe it. No way, José.”

Hanzo leans closer over the table, and then props his chin on his hand. He plants the cutest smile he can muster on his face and reaches across the table to put his fingertips over Jesse’s. The cowboy freezes, smile locked into place, and Hanzo wrinkles his nose, laughing gently.

“Thank you for the treat, Mr. McCree,” he coos, tipping his head so hair falls over his shoulder. Jesse’s confused eyes track the movement. The archer privately thrills beneath his facade as he slips his fingers between Jesse’s, peeking up at him from under his eyelashes. “Give me your wallet.”

Jesse blinks at him silently for a split second before he gives a full-body shiver. He laughs, (nervously? shyly?) and shakes his head like he’s clearing a thought from it. “That’s spooky,” he says, “that wasn’t like you at all. _Mr. McCree?_ The fuck was that?”

Hanzo snorts, and leans back, though he carefully doesn’t move his hand. “Underestimating me was your first mistake.”

Jesse seems delightedly amused. “I think I like normal you better. Those big ol’ fake cow eyes don’t fit you.” He drops his chin into his free palm, and Hanzo silently relishes that he hasn’t unlaced their hands, either. After a moment, the cowboy’s eyes meet his, and soften in a way that makes Hanzo’s stomach flutter. “Y’know, I can be sweet, too.”

“Oh?” Hanzo leans closer, fully aware that he’s flirting now, but finds himself not minding. “Show me.”

The cowboy grins, then takes his free hand and tips his hat. Hanzo lifts a brow, unimpressed, until McCree then lifts the hand Hanzo has interlaced with his own and brings it to his lips. Horrified, Hanzo watches as Jesse kisses the knuckles and then, appallingly, throws him a wink. “I’d really like to win you a stuffed animal, sugar. No charge, ‘cause my prize is lookin’ at you,” he purrs. Hanzo can feel the whiskers above McCree’s lip brushing against his skin.

Mortifyingly, some kind of choked snort bubbles out of his throat, and he snatches his hands — both of them — back. His heart feels like it’s in his throat. Embarrassment heats his face to full color as he attempts to unstick his tongue. “That was terrible. Of course you use pick-up lines,” he says, impressively cool.

Jesse is looking at him with a knowing glint in his eye that has Hanzo threatening to throw the funnel cake at him. “It works. I’ve been known to fluster statues with the hand kiss,” he says, silkily, like a snake suggesting you take the apple. Hanzo pulls himself together enough to glare at him.

“I am stronger than a statue.”

“Hmm.” Jesse’s smile is still lazy, but there’s definitely flirtation there, and smugness, and Hanzo tears his eyes away again. “If you say so.”

Hanzo huffs. The cowboy’s pride is enough to steel him again, and Hanzo forcefully shoves more funnel cake in his mouth. “Mine was better. It has actually worked.”

McCree laughs now, leaning back on the bench and tipping his hat back with a thumb. He eats from the cake in between looking around the fair, his eyes deceptively easygoing. Hanzo knows his gun is tucked in the back of his pants, ready to draw if the need be. Though they wouldn’t be firing into a crowd if things got hectic, if they could chase their quarry into an alleyway, or something—

“Hey.”

Hanzo is pulled from his thoughts and from absentmindedly eating well over his half of the funnel cake as Jesse speaks up. He meets the cowboy’s gaze.

“Betcha I actually could win one of the big stuffed animal things from that booth over there.”

He nods his head, and Hanzo turns to look behind him. The booth McCree has indicated is one of those where you have to shoot the correct characters that pop up, and avoid harming innocents. Hanzo rolls his eyes as he turns back to Jesse.

“Those machines are rigged, cowboy,” Hanzo replies, helping himself to finishing off the cake. He dusts his hands of any powdered sugar. “You are skilled, but they are built to assure you do not win.”

“If you’re scared to lose to me, you can just say so.”

Hanzo bites back a smirk; the challenge is blatant and Hanzo knows Jesse knows it. He also knows that Jesse knows that Hanzo isn’t going to tell him no.

“Fine,” Hanzo sniffs, standing and watching Jesse pick up the empty plate and put it in the garbage, ever a gentleman. “Whoever receives the larger prize wins.”

Jesse grins like an excited child, and scoots around the picnic table to slap Hanzo on the back as he passes by. “Come on, then, darlin’. I’ll win you somethin’ soft.”

Huffing a laugh, Hanzo follows after him. “Remember why we are here,” he says half-heartedly.

Jesse turns as he jogs and grins wide, eyes twinkling. “Bok bok bok,” he clucks, waggling his arms in an imitation of wings, and Hanzo sneers back.

Still, despite himself, he lets the concerns of the mission fall to the back of his mind as he approaches the booth. Jesse’s elbow brushes his own, and Hanzo briefly feels sparks tingling over his skin as he looks up at the enthusiastic cowboy.

The Omnic behind the counter folds her hands and tips her head. “Hey. It’s five dollars to play. I’m guessing it’s the cowboy shooting?”

Hanzo grins as Jesse chuckles; the ‘cowboy’ descriptor would always amuse the man. “Nah, my friend here’ll go first.” He claps Hanzo on the shoulder and then five dollars magically appear on the table, placed there by a neatly articulated metal hand. Hanzo turns to protest, but Jesse just steps away to give him room.

Whatever. He’ll pay him back. Hanzo takes the toy gun the omnic hands him and holds it up, checking to see if it actually has sights. Behind him, Jesse chokes back what sounds suspiciously like a giggle, but Hanzo ignores him in favor of nodding at the attendant.

A country-music tune starts up as the omnic presses a button on the counter, and Hanzo narrows his eyes as holographic enemies and allies begin to pop up in the backdrop of the booth. He lifts his gun and aims, easily shooting down the mean-mugging thieves in black hats and eyemasks, and avoiding the horses, little girls, and cowboys that sport big cheesy smiles. The attendant sits up a little, clearly surprised, as Hanzo aims the gun expertly; as he flawlessly surpasses the points required to win one of the smaller prizes, the omnic lets out a metallic laugh, leaning back against the counter as if settling in to watch.

The enemies and allies begin popping up and disappearing more quickly. Hanzo doesn’t even sweat, racking up 30 points, then 50, then 75. It’s only when the machine begins to pass 150 points that the enemies appear and vanish almost too quickly for Hanzo to process, whipping his plastic gun to and fro and watching holographic bullets hit the chest of enemy after enemy. Behind him, Jesse whoops, and Hanzo feels pleasure thrum in his veins despite the fact that he’s flagging.

He reaches 251 points before he aims his gun at a cowboy and fires after mistaking him for an enemy. The game freezes on his mistake; the wide-grinning cowboy letting his smile fall. “Ow!” he says, and then falls off screen, and a big ‘GAME OVER’ appears across the game.

Hanzo doesn’t mind, only twirls the gun in an imitation of Jesse on the battlefield. He blows imaginary smoke from the end of the barrel and then hands it over.

Jesse’s eyes are crinkled in a laugh so big he can’t contain it. “Well, I’ll be. Shootin’ down an innocent cowboy… awful rude that you keep doin’ that. Maybe you should be the one we call gunslinger, honey.”

Hanzo folds his arms, tipping his head and ignoring the implication of what he’d said determinedly. “Maybe you should.”

The omnic ignores their jabbing, only seeming mildly impressed. “You get to pick one of the bigger ones, sir.” She gestures to the hanging stuffed animals, and Hanzo frowns when he realizes he didn’t earn enough to get one of the largest ones.

“How much for that?” he asks, pointing at one of the ludicrously large dogs hanging from the edge of the booth. It sticks its heart-shaped tongue out at him, big, white-furred, and absolutely covered in pink and red hearts.

“You need 500 points,” the omnic says, shrugging, and Hanzo scowls. Of course it was rigged.

He points at a slightly smaller toy; a cow, bright pink and spotted with white hearts. The omnic reaches up and hands it to him. “Congrats. Nice shooting.”

Hanzo abruptly feels silly, having worked so hard for something so childish. He’d never had stuffed animals, even when he was younger.

The cow feels nice, though. It’s soft, and its button eyes are charmingly old-fashioned. He holds it in his folded arms and looks up at Jesse. The cowboy is gazing back at him, though he tugs his eyes away when Hanzo looks. “You want the big dog?”

Hanzo snorts. “I do not care, McCree.”

Jesse spins his plastic gun. “I’ll get you the big dog.”

Rolling his eyes, Hanzo leans against the counter beside Jesse, holding his cow and watching as Jesse nods at the omnic.

The game starts up again. Jesse, predictably, shows off. Hanzo smirks at him as the gunslinger turns to look at Hanzo as he fires, presumably not even looking as he shoots down the right targets. His companion makes a deal of it, yawning with his free hand and then taking his hat off and fanning himself with it. Were it anyone else, Hanzo would find the behavior excessive; as it is, he cannot help being charmed. Jesse’s brown eyes are bright, framed by the scruffy, unkempt locks of his hair. His muscles flex appealingly under his button-up, shoulders wide and powerful and biceps pressing tight against his shirt as he proceeds to do a few shots behind his back and under his arm. He is ridiculous, and handsome, and Hanzo…

Helpless, he huffs a laugh, trying to cover the smile by turning his face away, but when he peeks back from the corner of his eye Jesse looks incredibly smug.

Hanzo has been smitten with him for some time, now.

Embarrassed of it, determined not to make anything of it. In the beginning, he’d determinedly crushed it down to dust, frustrated when the blossom kept pushing through the sidewalk pavement he’d put around his heart. Determined to keep it, if anything, the white heat of lust, instead of this pale, dusty pink rose blooming in the center of it. Not only would McCree never be interested, Hanzo wouldn’t deserve it even if he did. He wasn’t here for romance; he was here to repay a debt that could never really be repaid.

After that hump had slowly been gotten over with time and his brother’s knowing glances and soft conversations, it had evolved into not ever acting on it because Jesse was… so much. There was so much about him that lit Hanzo’s nerves on fire, his heart thumping in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager. It was… _embarrassing._ Even if he had accepted his feelings, it was still enough to have him covering his face and scolding himself the moment he left an encounter. Left him laying down in his bed and replaying the play of light in Jesse’s eyes as he’d stumbled over his words.

Hanzo didn’t _do_ this. He didn’t fluster over a man. Countless men and women had tried to court him over the years, and while some had been good for a fuck before slipping away in the night, this was… different.

Hanzo was _pining._ He’d never _pined_ in his life. Not for a person, anyway. Anyone he’d ever wanted, he could have. But… none of them had ever really _known_ him before.

Jesse knew him. Knew his secrets and his actual personality and he’d seen him violent and hateful and angry and pathetic and loathsome. Lust had never had a chance to turn into _this_ before. His initial reaction had been self-disgust, but… dammit. He was just a man. And Jesse was just so…

He’d been steeled to the fact that he wouldn’t ever pursue this, that there were more important things than a schoolyard crush. But that had unexpectedly evolved into this hot, hissing thing in his gut. It purred when Hanzo let himself warm his hands on it in private moments alone in his bedroom, and flared up when Hanzo ignored it, demanding to be heard as it yowled and clawed at his insides every time Jesse spoke to him. But it didn’t matter. It’d pass.

Only now Jesse seemed… he _seemed_ to be flirting in response. Flirting unprovoked, even. Like now, Hanzo thinks, looking at Jesse from under his eyelashes as the cowboy effortlessly passes Hanzo’s own record and keeps climbing, all while continuing to show off.

_This is flirting,_ he thinks. Hopes. _Trying to impress me. Isn’t it?_ Hanzo prays he isn’t misinterpreting it, because he _is_ impressed; McCree’s finesse with a gun had been one of the things that had attracted him in the first place, and even seeing it in as silly a setting as this, it’s an awe-striking thing to watch the cowboy’s reflexes work so fast. Hanzo’s own are fast, but his usual weaponry is a bow; as skilled as he is with a gun (far more skilled than anyone gives him credit for), he doesn’t use it as religiously as his companion.

Hanzo silently moves closer as Jesse passes 300, then 350. Jesse flicks a glance at him, but Hanzo can see he’s concentrating now, so he just hums quietly in what he hopes conveys his mild pride in his friend. The Omnic stares, obviously more impressed now than she had been with Hanzo. As Jesse surpasses 400, she sits up.

Hanzo’s eyes can’t even follow the flashing of the little figures, but when he glances up at Jesse’s face, he’s surprised to see a red light burning in the gunslinger’s eyes. Perhaps a trick of the light; all the rose-hued lights glowing around them could be reflecting strangely. But Jesse’s pupils are flickering like he’s a shuttering camera, and his hand follows, finger pulling the trigger again and again.

Before Hanzo can even process it, Jesse has passed 500 points, and Hanzo can’t stop himself from letting out a quiet growl of victory. “Yes!” The Omnic is already standing, reaching to unattach the dog from its place.

Hanzo moves closer to Jesse still, and, seeing the kind of strange disassociative space Jesse has gone into, reaches out and touches the cowboy’s back. “You did it,” he praises, soft.

Abruptly, Jesse gives a full body shake and drops the gun on the counter. He shivers again, gives his head a sharp shake, then grins, turning to Hanzo with it sweeping over his face. The red gleam is gone. Hanzo squints up at him, but the cowboy just seems pleased with himself. He takes his hat off and fans himself with it, though now he actually looks exerted. “Did it,” he repeats, grinning. Hanzo watches a bead of sweat roll down his temple and it clicks what he’s just done, but before he can say anything Jesse has turned to receive the shakily outheld dog.

“Thank you kindly!” he says, then turns back, seemingly completely missing the Omnic’s shell-shocked demeanor. He holds the massive dog up, and wiggles its front paws at Hanzo, peering around it with grinning brown eyes. “Woof.”

Hanzo stares at him, clutching his cow, and steps closer. He tries to get as close to McCree as he can around the dog. “Did you just use Deadeye to get this ridiculous thing? _Here?”_

Jesse’s eyes just crinkle more. “It was rigged! I rigged it back! Look, I got your big friend.”

Hanzo can’t decide whether to be more exasperated or fond. He settles for somewhere in between, though he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t falling heavily in the latter camp. “You are… such a silly man.”

Jesse brightens further, impossibly. He is near-endlessly good-natured; Hanzo admires it about him. “Mhm. It’s what makes me so lovable.”

Hanzo feels the exasperation give complete way. He feels a smile creep onto his face and turns it away, reaching out to grab the dog with one hand. “Here. The cow is yours, then.” He lifts up the stuffed animal in his arms, dragging the dog to the spot instead and straining to see around it.

Jesse takes the cow bemusedly, cradling it as Hanzo had, and then looks down at him before beginning to laugh.

“It’s as big as you!” he chuckles, eyes alight with humor.

Hanzo sniffs. He’s about to say something snarky in response when, instead, he finally gets a hold on the dog where he can see Jesse in his entirety.

The object of his affection is standing there in his red-and-white flannel, chosen specifically to match the holiday in a small bit of senseless sentimentality. His beard is dusted with powdered sugar; his narrow eyes are chocolate brown under his hat, and just as sweet, twin lanterns in the soft darkness of the evening. Warmth pours from him, a beckon, an invitation. He’s glowing under the lights. He looks so comfortable, so glad to be here, like a man returning to his hometown after years away. With Hanzo. This cozy, love-laden ceremony fits him like a glove, all brown and velvet-smooth, easily pulled on, carefully done. He holds a ridiculous cow in his hands.

He is looking at Hanzo with affection. He smiles and Hanzo feels his heart in his throat, and before he can stop it, it pours out of him, inelegant but bloody in its wants.

“Go on the Ferris wheel with me.”

Jesse hums, face soft and touchable in the rosy pink light. “Alright.”

They go. Hanzo holds the big dog in one arm. His free hand swings between the two of them, and McCree, holding the cow likewise, lets the back of their hands brush on occasion. They make a point to pause when they need to if it means continuing to walk side by side. Jesse’s coyote eyes are hound-dog now, peeking over at Hanzo every now and again.

Hanzo doesn’t pretend he isn’t looking back, even as he feels telltale heat unfurl up the nape of his neck like a sienna.

They arrive at the Ferris wheel and pay the fee to get on. The dog and cow are placed beside them (cow in dog’s lap) and they squeeze into the remaining space, McCree graciously taking the middle seat and laughing when Hanzo briefly falls back into his demure persona to call him a gentleman.

Hanzo’s thigh presses close to McCree’s. He puts his hands on the loose metal bar that counts as safety across their laps. Admittedly, he’s a touch excited about riding, childish as it seems. Jesse seems to pick up on this and chuckles; Hanzo elbows him so gently it barely counts.

They ride around to the top and around again. Hanzo looks down at all the people walking around beneath them. He finds that being high off the ground lets him reflect on what is important, and what he can handle. Something he must have developed as an archer, but it helps in non-combat situations as well. Seeing people pass beneath him, and having nothing but the sky above him… it is enough to clear his head in even the worst of times.

Usually, though, he is alone.

Now, Jesse leans closer to him, peeking his head out to look down at the people, as well.

Beneath them, the entire fair is a haze of pink and white, swirled together like sherbet, blinking lights and soft music. The air tastes sweet, an intersection of sugar and nectarines. Hanzo would find the display excessive, but it’s hard to feel negatively toward it when it has brought him here. Jesse’s side is warm, and, when he looks, his smile is warmer.

Hanzo can feel his heart thrumming under his jaw, but his mind _is_ clear.

The wheel slows to a stop with their basket at the apex, giving them a perfect view of the clearing and the glowing sky. Stars flicker into existence against the darkening evening as the sun finally sinks under the horizon completely. Hanzo huffs softly to himself; it is as if the world itself is egging him on, though that may just be his hopeful imagination.

Gathering his courage, Hanzo turns, pulling his eyes from everything beautiful around him and landing on the most scruffy, damaged thing.

Jesse is already looking back. Hanzo feels heat burn his ears, but when Jesse makes to shyly break the eye contact, Hanzo exhales before he can stop himself.

Jesse pauses, his gaze hovering near Hanzo’s throat.

The archer swallows, and watches Jesse track the movement. Warmth drops in his belly like syrup on a pancake, and, mindless, he reaches forward and tips Jesse’s chin up.

They meet eyes again.

Hanzo struggles to find words, unsure what to say, less sure of what to do.

Jesse looks back at him, his eyes hooded and dark against his brown skin. His cracked lips part. “Looks like you’re Cupid after all.”

Ridiculous. “Not now,” Hanzo huffs, and leans in.

The cowboy tips his head up gently to meet him. Hanzo nearly hesitates when he feels their noses brush, feels the rasp of McCree’s beard against his own, but then the cowboy’s breath catches and Hanzo can’t bear to let him down.

He presses their lips together. Jesse’s head tilts to further accommodate him, ever polite, and Hanzo presses closer, the hand on Jesse’s chin sliding around to push his fingers into his hair. He accidentally upends the hat a little, but neither stop to adjust it. Hanzo can barely keep the sense of mind to continue breathing through his nose.

Jesse’s mouth tastes like funnel cake, chocolate, and the underlying spice of smoky cigars. It should have been disgusting, and maybe in his right mind it would’ve been, but as it was Hanzo savors it, brands it against his lips in memory. The cowboy’s metal hand slides to cup Hanzo’s cheek and gently pull him in even further, and Hanzo makes a noise, suddenly realizing that McCree is indeed kissing him back.

“Mmh,” he breathes, and tries to shimmy closer. Jesse shakes a laugh against his lips before tipping his head and kissing him again, and Hanzo would feel embarrassed if the brunet didn’t make a very similar noise as the kiss deepens. He feels faintly like he is wisping out of his own body like smoke, and he welcomes it, letting the doubts of the validity of this drift away.

The bar across their chests keeps them from moving too closely to each other, but for the moment, that’s alright. Hanzo outright removes the hat and only manages to put it on the dog because he knows Jesse would be upset if he dropped it. In its lieu, he runs his hand through the hair underneath; still a little sweaty, messy and flat, catching his fingers. Jesse doesn’t seem to mind beyond chuffing gently, like a horse, into the kiss without pulling back. Hanzo ignores the tugging, carefully dragging his nails against Jesse’s scalp. The cowboy makes a pleased rumble, and now both hands are cradling Hanzo’s neck. He can feel the other man’s thumbs against his pulse, like he’s checking for his heartbeat. Hanzo imagines it must feel like a drumbeat from a particularly punchdrunk musician.

Heat, lazy and happy, oozes under the fabric Jesse touches. There’s barely any skin to skin contact, but it doesn’t matter. Pleasure, the deep-seated kind that could simmer for hours, uncurls its tentacles like an octopus in his chest, reaching out and furling through every limb, leaving the underside of his skin bubbling.

He’s kissing Jesse. He’s fantasized about this, and it’s everything and more. The cowboy kisses like he speaks; languid, unhurried, and drawing Hanzo into the conversation with sweet little teases of his tongue. Hanzo denies him entry only to lap his way into Jesse’s mouth when he backs off, rumbling a laugh at the surprised noise his companion makes.

When they finally pull apart, McCree looks dazed. Hanzo imagines he can’t look much more put-together, panting slightly and licking his lips to soothe the soreness. Jesse’s eyes track his tongue and then he’s flushing; barely noticeable on his dark skin, but just enough to be highlighted by the pink lights surrounding them.

Feeling bold, Hanzo lets the giddy chuckle in his chest wiggle its way up. “I have wanted to do that… for some time.”

Jesse’s hazy smile quirks a little more. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

The hands cradling Hanzo’s neck slide down to his shoulders. McCree’s strong thumbs massage little circles there before they slide up again, now cradling Hanzo’s jaw. “Was it the big dog?”

Hanzo huffs, embarrassed once again, but happily so. He leans into the hands holding him and lets his eyes skitter away, down to the crowd. “Definitely the dog,” he teases, nuzzling just a little into the rough palm of Jesse’s hand. “Not at all because you are…”

He freezes, spotting movement in the crowd below him. A human, moving quickly, not with the joy of the atmosphere, murmuring to themselves with a finger up to their ear. Perhaps just someone in a hurry to leave, but…

As Hanzo watches, the woman reaches into her jacket and pulls out something small but undeniable to the trained eye, even in the dim lighting of the fair: a detonator.

“Bomb,” he hisses.

Jesse smiles, cocking a brow. “… Bomb?” He chuckles. “Not the _strangest_ compliment I’ve gotten, but from you–”

“What?” Hanzo turns to him, confused, before reaching up and grabbing Jesse’s face in his hand. He turns it to face the woman. “No, Jesse, _bomb.”_

Jesse’s flirtatious, cleary still-dazed expression drops as he sees what Hanzo sees, eyes honing in on the danger with admirable speed. “Oh, shit.”

Hanzo grabs the metal bar across them and jerks, once, hard. It pops open under his strength, and Hanzo swings it over their heads, narrowly missing smacking Jesse in the forehead. Jesse makes a startled noise as Hanzo quickly and effortlessly leaps from their seat onto the thick metal framing holding it up, and begins to monkey-bar his way down it towards the center of the wheel. He hears his companion call his name, once, before cursing, but Hanzo doesn’t look back.

There’s some commotion as the other patrons notice what he’s doing, but he’s shimmied down to the ground and leapt over the surrounding fence of the Ferris wheel before they can stop him, rushing through the crowd toward the woman and her detonator.

Along the way, he spots Lúcio and Genji chatting as they share a plate of nachos; they look up in alarm when he rushes by, quickly abandoning their food in favor of rushing after him.

He reaches up to click on the communicator they all had in their ears, and as everyone else does likewise, he hears Jesse’s voice first.

“Fuckin’ spider-monkey.”

Hanzo huffs, but now isn’t the time for humor, his eyes finally finding the crop of blonde hair he’d been looking for and zeroing in on it. “Woman with a detonator. Blonde hair, wearing a blue jacket,” Hanzo says, and the two other men nod before splitting off to circle around. “She’s by the funnel cake stand.”

“We are incoming,” Zenyatta’s calm monotone comes in his ear. “Some of us… faster than others.”

Hanzo squints, wondering what that means, but keeps running. He draws up on the woman, slowing quickly in case he can apprehend her without causing an enormous scene, but as soon as she catches sight of him, her eyes widen. She must’ve been tipped off.

_“Shit,”_ Hanzo snarls, as she immediately sprints off into the crowd, “she’s running. Heading southeast, towards the—” Hanzo scans his surroundings, hot on her heels. “— the Tunnel of Love.”

Jesse chuckles in his ear, sounding out of breath. “Really.”

“Someone’s always gotta ruin the party,” Lúcio’s voice appears, and Hanzo sees him scooting between people out of the corner of his eye, heading for the edge of the fair.

“Tell me about it,” grumbles Jesse. Hanzo briefly missteps, flashing to Jesse’s warm hands on his face, the press of his lips. He quickly pushes it away. _Later._

“I’ll get the perimeter. Zen?” Lúcio again.

“I am with you,” Zenyatta answers the musician.

The woman splashes into the makeshift ‘river’ the town has set up as the tunnel, pushing past the swan-shaped boat closest to the entrance. She sloshes past it, surprisingly fast in the water, and Hanzo rushes after her, glancing back to see Genji appear at his shoulder. His brother’s lights begin to glow and give them makeshift flashlights as they enter the dark ride.

The pathway is lit with dim, rose-pink lights. Soft music plays over the loudspeakers as the gentle lap of water is interrupted by the woman’s splashing. In the obscurity, Hanzo can see the her shadow running, and Hanzo is quick behind. He wishes he had his bow, but his weapon had been left at the base of the Ferris wheel, disguised as a guitar case. He’ll have to fight her hand to hand, though, with Genji with him, it shouldn’t be difficult.

It’s just the detonator.

“Quickly,” Genji breathes, rushing past Hanzo and lighting the way. They stumble after her, a little disoriented in the sweet-smelling darkness. Up ahead, Hanzo hears a couple screech in unison, presumably startled out of their necking session by the woman running past through the water.

“She is going to outrun us,” Hanzo pants, startled at the woman’s speed.

Genji says nothing, but Hanzo can feel the grimness coming from him.

Zenyatta’s voice suddenly reappears in the earpiece. “We may have an issue,” he begins, but as Hanzo continues running, he doesn’t need to be told what it is.

The light at the end of the tunnel comes into view. Their target swerves around one final swan, and in the distance, Hanzo can see a Jeep parked just on the other side of the fence.

“— the target has an escape vehicle,” Zenyatta finishes, voice low.

“Comin’,” Jesse grunts, sounding winded.

Hanzo’s heart starts up. She can’t get into that vehicle. If he’d only been faster, if he’d only been paying _attention—_

And then, suddenly, a shadow passes over the edge of the tunnel, blocking out the light with the sheer size of it.

The woman stumbles to a halt.

Orisa’s ocular lenses flash red. “Stop! In the name of the law!” she commands, and holds up a wide hand, her horns gleaming menacingly in the lowlight of the tunnel. “Put down your weapon and you will not be harmed!”

The woman stares, as if not expecting this, and then hisses under her breath. “Damn _omnics!_ Get out of my way, trash-heap!”

She pulls something out of her jacket: a baton, Hanzo realizes. He almost snorts. Does she really intend to try and fight her way past Orisa with _that?_

The baton suddenly lights up bright blue. Hanzo can _smell_ the lightning coming off of it. Ah. “Do it! Or I’ll bash you back into the parts you’re made of!”

He sees Orisa’s firm stance suddenly take an uneasy shift, though her arm doesn’t waver. After a split moment, Orisa takes another step forward, tilting her head down. Hanzo feels a rush of respect for the omnic. “You will not hurt these people! This is a ceremony of love!”

Hanzo tries to move up behind the woman, but she swings around, holding her baton out and then aiming it at Genji, who freezes.

“Try it, Overwatch. We all know what the omnics did. You should remember most of all!” The woman holds up the detonator alongside the baton, her thumb hovering threateningly over the switch. “One more move and I’ll blow the entire place up. Then Overwatch will lose whatever agents you have planted here. Let me go.”

The three of them stay still, watching as she slowly begins to move past Orisa.

Then, very softly, McCree’s voice in the communicator. “Let her go.”

Hanzo doesn’t respond; none of them do. They all watch as she slips around the OR-15 and makes a break for the Jeep.

“Jesse,” Hanzo murmurs, staring after her as she easily leaps over the fence and towards the vehicle. The agents with him all move after her toward the fence, but don’t give chase, scared of what she might do.

“I got it,” Jesse murmurs back, “trust me, honey.”

Hanzo clenches his teeth and says nothing, but as the woman climbs into the Jeep, he can’t help barking again. _“McCree.”_ She could potentially kill _hundreds_ of people—

As he watches, Jesse sits up in the back seat of the Jeep. Before she can react, he snaps his metal arm around the headrest and across the woman’s neck. In her surprise, the woman immediately begins scrabbling against his arm, but after only a few moments she goes limp.

Hanzo immediately leaps the fence, Genji and Lúcio close behind him, and as they approach Hanzo notes that the Jeep’s back tires are slashed.

She had never been going anywhere. A rush of pride for Jesse rises in Hanzo’s throat, but he says nothing as Jesse casually exits the Jeep and comes around to the driver’s door. He opens it and reaches to take the detonator from her hand, tsk-ing. “That’s the oldest trick in the book. What kinda idiot doesn’t check the backseat?”

Genji comes around and punches Jesse firmly in the arm, immediately speaking over him as he yelps in pain. _“Yarou!_ If she _had_ checked her backseat you would be a sizzling piece of meat that thought it was clever! Feel lucky that you are living!”

Jesse rubs the place he’d been punched, looking wounded. “But it _was_ clever.”

Genji somehow glares through his mask. “I hate you.”

Lúcio has noticed the back tires as well now, and grins over at McCree in contrast, his eyes sparkling. “It _was_ pretty cool.”

Genji turns to him, flopping his arms in exasperation. “Don’t encourage him.” He turns and hefts the woman over his shoulder, slowing when Lúcio comes up beside him to help.

Jesse captures his attention then, coming around the Jeep and pausing in front of Hanzo. He looks down at him with a glow in his dark eyes. “Pretty sneaky, right? Told you I had it.”

Ridiculous. Hanzo looks up at him for a moment, pursing his lips, and then folds his arms. “You did not have to leave so much tension in the air. I would have been impressed even if I _had_ known your plan.”

Undeterred, Jesse leans down, grinning. “But you _are_ impressed?”

Hanzo deliberately avoids his eyes. “The job is done. Why does it matter _how_ it is done?”

The cowboy saunters closer, into his personal space. “‘Cause I mighty like impressing you,” he purrs, voice so quiet it can only be heard between the two of them.

Hanzo feels another bloom of heat in his chest, and deigns to make eye contact with him. McCree’s gaze is burning and brown, lit up under the shadow of his hat, and when Hanzo looks at him he makes a small noise.

Endearing. Foolish. Charming.

“Fine,” Hanzo murmurs, tipping his head back imperiously. “You displayed stealth and planning quickly and efficiently. Good work.”

“Aww, hon,” McCree rumbles. “Can’t you say it sweet?” He is very close. Hanzo can smell the chocolate on his breath, the masculine scent clinging to his button-up. He would be embarrassed of his proximity if the others weren’t distracted. Really, he should be helping, but Jesse looks very earnest, and Hanzo is in the mood to indulge.

“You said being sweet did not suit me,” Hanzo replies, though the beginnings of a smile twitch through his facade.

Jesse’s hand comes forward for just a moment. His fingers brush the fabric over Hanzo’s waist; Hanzo can feel the gentle press of his nails and a thrill runs up his spine. As many soft, warm feelings the man conjures, the movement is enough to put carnal thoughts in Hanzo’s head, and when they meet eyes, Hanzo can see that Jesse knows it. “Han.”

_He is insufferable already,_ Hanzo thinks, too fond for it to hold any bite. The archer sighs and puts his own hand on Jesse’s chest, letting it slide up to cradle his neck. The cowboy leans into the motion; Hanzo feels power in the way his fingers seem to captivate McCree so entirely. Dangerous. He hums, and looks up at his companion again. “You did well. I am impressed.” After only a moment’s hesitation, he adds, more quietly, “but do not put yourself in danger just to show off. You… do not have to try so hard, to capture my attention. It is already yours.”

Jesse beams, and Hanzo cannot fight his smile any longer. He uses his hand to push the man playfully away, folding his arms once more and turning so the man cannot come so close again. “Now let us get on with the job.”

“Yessir,” the cowboy responds, trotting away with a bounce in his step that Hanzo feels a flash of pride at the sight of.

He only fully shakes himself out of it once it becomes clear that Genji’s plan for getting their captive over the fence is to throw her bodily over the fence into Orisa’s arms. Despite his attempts to stop it, it happens anyway, but Hanzo can’t really force himself to be too upset about it.

 

* * *

 

The ride back to their drop-off zone is not too different than the one coming from it.

Orisa waves goodbye to them after their night of rest at the hotel (where Hanzo and Genji had shared a room and proceeded to have a very awkward, few-sentence long conversation about the recent additions to their romantic lives. Hanzo’s suspicions are confirmed; so are Genji’s, apparently). She will be meeting up with Efi in the town later in the evening and extracted afterward.

Genji and Lúcio sit with Zenyatta in the backseat. They play the A-B-C game with every roadsign they pass, talking animatedly amongst each other. When Hanzo spares a moment to glance back at them, Genji’s arm is around Lúcio’s shoulders. They look comfortable with each other; Lúcio trounces Genji handily in the game, and Hanzo can see why. Genji does not keep his eyes from the young musician long enough to really focus on roadsigns, in any case.

Hanzo would think it was amusing if he were in any better of a boat.

McCree is driving the car again. It isn’t necessary, really; the car comes with auto-pilot technology, but the cowboy insists he enjoys the feel of roadtripping where he’s partially in control, and Hanzo had not seen a reason to argue with him.

He looks good. His hair is pushed back, presently free from the hat that now sits on top of a small pink cow sitting on the console between them. His button-up is a soft blue-and-white flannel that stands out against his dark skin, stretching tight against his broad shoulders, and his face is settled in a content kind of expression as he drives down the highway, nodding along with the soft music coming from the radio.

Ridiculous. Inane. But undeniable.

Hanzo watches him mouth along with the words, focused on his task, before McCree suddenly seems to notice the eyes on him and flicks his gaze to meet the archer’s.

Hanzo doesn’t look away from his position leaned against the passenger door, head propped on a hand. He lifts his brows, instead, as if to ask ‘what?’.

Jesse’s lips twist in a smile as he looks back at the road. “Need somethin’, hon?.”

Ah. Hanzo blinks and turns his face to look out the window, feeling his face heat up even as he smiles in response.

“No. Nothing.”

He readjusts his grip on the giant stuffed dog in his lap, and decides that, perhaps, February has its charms.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed the fic! I may... have had... a little too much fun making fun of specific Hanzo stereotypes. Follow me on [tumblr](https://poes.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/gaydameron) and talk at me there! I'd like to start writing drabbles and stuff on tumblr, but... I don't have v many followers there, so. Haha.
> 
> PUT ORISA IN MORE FICS YOU ANIMALS.
> 
> Okay! Now for Bad Moon Update!
> 
> I definitely AM still working on it, and the next chapter is very close to be able to post. I'm really, really sorry for taking so long with it, but remember when I thought I'd be moved back in January? Ha. I've been working nonstop on my house getting it ready to sell and have unfortunately had almost no time to write. THIS weekend is when I will be moving to my new RENTAL place, and then after that I will eventually be moving to my Actual Permanent House after that. So! Yikes! I'm very sorry about the wait, and hope this fluff can tide you over in the meantime! Bad Moon will definitely be getting an update as soon as I can get the latest chapter edited. Thank you all so much for asking about it, commenting on it, and being patient! It means the world to me!
> 
> Have a great day!


End file.
